PewDieCry- He Made It
by MissShips-A-Lot
Summary: This was the only sound other than heavy panting that was heard throughout the sewer system as Cry ran through the corridors, keeping a steady pace, keeping his eyes wide open, keeping his thoughts focused on the task at hand; he needed to locate him.


_Splash, splash, splash, splash_

This was the only sound other than heavy panting that was heard throughout the sewer system as Cry ran through the corridors, keeping a steady pace, keeping his eyes wide open, keeping his thoughts focused on the task at hand; he needed to locate him.

He kept his arms swinging at his sides, he kept his gaze forward- never down, up, backwards, no, never. Never anywhere but forward. He'd be in that direction. He could pass by at any given second if he looked the other way or stopped to tie his shoe or take a breath. Cry wouldn't stop- no, he couldn't stop until he reached _him_. He couldn't stop until he found _him_. He'd get there eventually, he just knew it.

He'd make it.

Cry's heart felt like it was going to explode. His legs were giving out from underneath him and sweat dripped down his face. He hadn't eaten in days. He hadn't stopped running for more than twenty minutes. He hadn't had any water since he took off sprinting from the base camp. He didn't have anything on him besides a switchblade, which wasn't exactly intact in his pocket.

But he'd make it.

He ignored the echoing of his heavy footsteps throughout the system, he ignored the groans of the creatures above him and maybe even around him, down there in the sewers with him, he ignored the excruciating pain he felt throbbing and stabbing in his head which was almost unbearable, he ignored the grotesque smell that penetrated the air, he ignored the nausea that had came back and punched him in the gut, he ignored the wet fabric that blanketed him and made his temperature rise dramatically, the sweater he had on for two weeks and was now covered in blood and soaked in grungy water that gave him an oppressive itching feeling, yes, he put it all aside.

He'd make it.

And he finally reached his destination, oh, yes he did- he found his hiding place. That's where he took _him_. That's where he is keeping _him_. That's where _he_ is trembling with fear and screaming as if_ he_ believed someone out there could hear_ him_ when all they could hear was dripping water and tearing flesh. _He_ actually hoped._ He_ was the one who made him believe it was all going to be okay when it really never was okay. _He_ was the one who gave him that spark of faith, that one piece of hope that he needed to keep pushing forward.

He'd made it.

He opened the door and peeked in to see the walls splattered in all areas with blood, the metal chair in the middle of the room straddling a man, _him__,_ with blood spurting from multiple areas of _his_ body as if the life was squeezed out of _him,_ the horrible feeling of ambiguity that insinuated the entire room along with the stench of dead, lifeless human flesh that lay in a pile on the chair, _his_ neck snapped and horribly disfigured, the look of pure terror upon _his_ fragile face even without the eyes, the skin covered in large craters surrounded by teeth marks that were clearly bites.

He didn't make it.

Cry paused to take a better look at this neutral body, _his_ neutral body, before falling into a speechless, still heap onto the tar-stained ground, letting the tears and sobs rush through him, through his veins and out his quivering lips, the dull pain set in his stomach becoming extremely severe. He could feel the retching sensation gurgling deep within his stomach and he knew he couldn't take anymore, so he regurgitated onto the ground next to him, turning over and becoming a convulsing and broken heap rather than a motionless one.

He ran out of time.

Cry felt his world spinning around him, he could feel the anger coursing through his entire body, the fear of the absence of knowing what else to expect, the absolute horror that struck him when he realized those monsters were still in there with him, his voice becoming hoarse and the need to sob fading away as he laid there, petrified in a sense, torpid, unable to move a single muscle and he let himself become quiescent, stagnant and sprawled out on the concrete.

He lost all hope.

Then Cry began to realize what had happened and he chuckled, giggling, laughing maniacally, sitting up and throwing his cracked and blood-stained mask towards a wall which hit with incredible force- _BANG-_ and he slammed his head on the wall next to him, over and over and over again until he felt his universe fading to black, dizziness covering him in a warm blanket.

He had no purpose anymore.

He put his hand behind his back and felt for his blade in his pocket, sliding it out with ease, flicking it up and staring at it, running his finger along the edge, gazing at his reflection in the metal and he smiled, closing his eyes, pressing the knife to his neck and taking his final breath, jerking his arm to the side and slicing his neck straight open, penetrating major vessels and causing a hemorrhage, bleeding, speech taken over by static pain and he died within seconds, regretting every moment of it.

He didn't make it.


End file.
